


Daddy Kink Fic Thing

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Affection, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Coming In Pants, Daddy Kink, Drabble, I found this in a draft on my computer and decided to polish it up and post it, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn Logic, Praise Kink, Ridiculous, Short One Shot, Stakeout, Tenderness, but i tried to stay true to their voices, ergo probably can count as ooc, given the situation, suspend your disbelief, what do you know i wrote a sequel chapter, which is just pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morse falls asleep on a stakeout and has an erotic dream. Thursday wakes him. Things escalate. Unrelated to my other Endeavour fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Had a thoroughly awful day today. Had to cheer myself up somehow. Found unfinished porn on my laptop. Finished it, and wound up with... this.

* * *

It was not the first time in Fred Thursday’s life that he’d been startled out of his thoughts by the sound of another man’s pleasure. Hell, in the army it had been all too common – young lads thrown together in war, missing their sweethearts back home. Good dreams were often the only escape. You learned to ignore the things you heard, tried not to feel jealous that so-and-so was, for a few minutes at least, in the arms of a pretty, willing English girl, and not freezing his bollocks off, camped overnight in the Italian countryside.

It was the first time it had ever happened on a stakeout, true, but the response should’ve been something similar. If it had been any other copper, fallen asleep at his post, Thursday would’ve been prepared for it. Wake him up, have a laugh with the rueful subordinate, forget about it. Banter between men who’d seen enough true horror to laugh at the little things. Make the whole situation as quick and painless as possible.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was _Morse._

He was so quiet that Thursday didn’t notice he was asleep until he started mumbling. A quick glance over revealed the cause – his red face, his hips shifting towards contact that wasn’t there.

Thursday swore under his breath. This would mortify the poor boy, particular as he was. To joke about it after the fact would only make it worse. He couldn’t wake him up, it would devastate him.

Morse let out a soft sigh and rolled towards the nearest source of heat. His prick bumped up against Thursday’s thigh.

Can’t leave him like this, either. If he wakes up having finished, he’ll be even more humiliated.

_Shit._

Gritting his teeth, Thursday took hold of Morse’s bony shoulder and shook him slightly. The boy’s eyes fluttered open and he looked around, first in disorientation, then in growing horror. He recoiled violently, and even in the near complete darkness, Thursday could see the wetness in his eyes.

He was the picture of shame.

“Hey, hold on. It’s alright. It happens to the best of us.”

Morse babbled an incoherent apology, looking sickly and pale. He wrung his hands in his lap, trying and failing to shield himself from view.

“Shh, shh… don’t fret. Come on, now, it’s not so bad as all that.”

Thursday rubbed a circle into Morse’s shoulder with his thumb. Gradually, the young man began to still.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” he whispered, pained. “I’ve ruined the stakeout.”

“If they were coming, they’d have done by now. You’re alright.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t… t-touch you…?”

His voice was strangled. Pained.

“Only just the once. It’s alright, like I said. I’ve seen worse in the service. I’ve probably done worse and all. It’s no comment on your character. When I was your age, well. You know what they say. Stiff breezes and all that.”

The attempt at levity fell flat. Morse looked, indeed, utterly miserable.

“Look,” Thursday sighed heavily. “If it won’t go away on it’s own, and you want to slip off into the shadows there, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Morse’s eyes widened in horror.

“Sir –”

“It’s up to you. Just know I won’t think ill of you, either way. And it needn’t be for that, mind, if you don’t fancy it. If you want to sit by yourself, have a bit of a cry, whatever you need – I’ll hold the fort.”

Morse nodded, and the desperate look he threw to the shadowy corner betrayed him.

“Go on, son.”

The words just slipped out. A bit of paternal affection, that was all. Shouldn’t have meant anything. Didn’t mean anything.

Morse shuddered and groaned softly, legs parting a bit. He attempted to collect himself immediately afterwards, but the damage was done.

Suddenly, a lot of things made sense. Thursday had a hunch, and, berating the detective in him that was determined to see it through, to prove his theory right, he swallowed dryly, and spoke.

“That’s it. It’s alright.”

Morse whimpered, looking at Thursday with something akin to awe.

“It’s alright,” the older man repeated. “Whatever it is you need…”

Morse’s mouth opened and shut like a dying fish. Gasping, gulping air. He was beyond words, shocked and shaken. His hand faltered when it reached the button of his trousers. Something in the way his fingers trembled caught Thursday’s eye and he felt warmth, interest, kindling in his belly. _In for a penny, in for a pound. Best give the lad what he wants._

“Hop to, then,” the Detective Inspector breathed, “and put on a show for your old man.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a draft of this last night and immediately took it down because I hated how I ended it so I retooled it a bit and now it ends abruptly but I'm tired of sitting on what is essentially just an extra bit of ridiculous pornfic inspired by a commenter who wanted more.
> 
> Hope you all don't think this is as shit as I think it is, anyway.

* * *

Thursday supposed, in retrospect, that he ought to have expected it – Morse being the stubborn sod he was – but all at once, the young policeman had looked every bit the troublemaking schoolboy, eyes defiant even as he blushed.

“I’d much rather do this.”

He sank to his knees. Shuffled forward. Stared pointedly at the older man’s lap. Morse’s gaze dropped, uncertainly, and he caught his lip between his teeth.

“Please…?”

He said it so meekly that Thursday nearly groaned aloud, blindsided by a sudden vision of burying himself in the boy’s eager mouth. Protests died on his tongue and he spread his legs apart, sweat prickling on his brow.

“Make yourself useful, then.”

The young man moved quickly, opening Thursday’s trousers and easing his soft length out of his pants. It rose, slowly at first, but with increasing interest, as thin, dexterous hands held it with something akin to reverence, gently tracing the flesh, mapping the dimensions out, smoothing over the coarse thicket of wiry salt-and-pepper hair, dropping down to palm the warm, heavy globes of his superior’s testes.

Thursday took hold of his bagman’s hair, tangling his fingers in it. Breath was ghosting over him, fleeting, faint, scalding hot and just a touch moist. Chapped lips pressed a chaste kiss to the head of his prick and the Detective Inspector’s eyes slid shut.

The slow, wet heat that enveloped him was pure torture. Thursday loved every minute of it. Morse knew his craft – knew to mind his teeth, and when and how to flick his tongue… it was as methodical an investigation as any of Morse’s police work. For the first minute or two, it was all Thursday could do to remember to breathe. As he adjusted to the slow, sensual pleasure, he realized that he was gripping the boy’s hair rather hard, and that it all was very one-sided. Morse’s hands were both upon him – one on his thigh and one on his scrotum, and he knew the lad must be aching to be touched.

_Give him something. Look at how he’s kneeling, looking up at you._

“You like that, don’t you son?”

Morse hummed against him.

“Sure you do – sitting there, pretty as you please. You’re good at this – bet you’ve done it before. Bet you got up to all sorts, in your day. Bet you got on your knees for all those stuffy old dons, eh college boy?”

Morse’s eyes snapped up to meet him, but rather than being dark with desire, they looked wounded. Confused. He kept his mouth on Thursday’s prick, but stopped moving, questioning gaze searching his face and inspiring sickening guilt. Immediately, Thursday backpedalled, stroking softly over his subordinate’s tousled hair.

“Oh, Morse, I didn’t mean – I thought you wanted it like that. Wanted it rough.”

_Wanted it with anyone but me. Some big faceless brute pushing into you – Christ, what was I thinking?_

“I don’t know what you like,” he added, “I was just trying to…”

_Not take too much. Not hurt you. God, I’d never mean to hurt a hair on your head, lad._

“I just wanted you to enjoy yourself.”

“Praise,” Morse said softly, eyes downcast.

“Pardon?”

“Praise. I like… praise. And I like when you… call me son.”

The boy’s ears were flaming red and he shook slightly, as though willing himself to stay was arduous and painful. Thursday nodded, ruffling Morse’s hair with gentle affection.

“Well, I’m glad of that,” he said finally. “It was killing me not to tell you how good you are. Not just at this, mind. You’re one of the best men I know, and I mean that.”

Morse hid his response to the kind words by sucking his boss’s prick down to the root. Thursday’s eyes rolled and he thumbed the delicate edge of the young man’s ear, tracing red-flushed cartilage. Morse wriggled his tongue and Thursday rumbled in contentment.

“Oh… that’s nice. You’ve got a knack for this… same as everything. Talented. Precise.”

Morse hummed, eyes squinted shut, leaning into Thursday’s hand.

“You’re in a class all your own. You can do whatever you put that mind of yours – _ah_ – damn fine mind, at that. If half the other boys at the station had half the brains you’ve got, there wouldn’t be a crime in the whole of England left unsolved!”

Another hum. Another wriggle.

“That’s it, son. That’s it. Keep at it. It’s heaven, me in your mouth like this. It’s a dream. Here, now, look me in the eye, won’t you? Oh… _that’s_ a treat. Pretty as a picture, my sweet-faced boy.”

Morse whimpered. Thursday traced an angular cheekbone. _He needs feeding, bless him_. _Skinny as a rail. God, but his mouth looks good around my prick._

The policeman was sucking in earnest, now, really putting his all into each bob of his head. The older man rolled his hips, pressing deeper into the slick warmth.

“Good as gold, my Endeavour. Steady on – I’ll finish in your throat if you keep on like that.”

The guttural moan that earned him made Thursday raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“You’re a regular minx, you are. Alright, then – if you really want it.”

He shut his eyes, tried to concentrate on the tightness building in his abdomen, coiling like a spring. Morse pulled back, flicked his tongue lightning-fast along the underside of the head. It shouldn’t have been possible, moving a tongue at that speed. Thursday had a brief moment to be impressed before he was reaching his peak and spilling with a grunt. Morse swallowed everything down, and the DI couldn’t help but murmur endearments as he was tenderly licked clean.

Morse turned his head, burying his flushed, hot face in Thursday’s thigh and reaching at last to touch himself. He rocked through his own climax, conscious only of his pleasure, and the weight of Thursday’s hand upon his head, steady and familiar, approving, fatherly, and fundamentally _safe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> were they indoors? outdoors? was thursday sitting and what was he sitting on? was the pacing off? the answer is hahaha this is trash and i am a potato so i'm sorry lol everything i write lately seems sucky to me


End file.
